Arms of a Woman : The Amos Lee Series
by Ella-and-Frankie-Inc
Summary: A series of one shots inspired by the songs of Amos Lee, beginning with "Arms of a Woman".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: If it is possible to fall in love with a voice coming through a pair of headphones, then Amos Lee is the one to make it happen. An absolutely amazing, magical artist. Wills and I recently discovered him, and were immediately inspired. "Arms of a Woman" is the first in what we plan as a series based on his songs. The link for this song is in our profile...and always, hope you enjoy! - AnaG and Willgirl**

He was tired.

The kind of tired that seeped into his muscles and knotted itself behind his eyes. They had been at this too long, trying too hard without any results. And all he wanted was to go home. No more dragging a suitcase into another stale hotel room. No more bland food eaten on the fly whenever they could find a spare moment. Nothing here was familiar, and God, right now he ached for the comfort of something familiar.

But it wasn't going to happen. Not until they caught this guy. Already they'd chased him halfway across the country, and still he kept slipping through their fingers. So no office, no diner, no little league games. No home. Not until they found the bastard.

Nodding his head, he signaled the bartender for another as he looked around the shadowed room. He'd been driving around aimlessly, when he'd found the place. A real hole in the wall bar that was a sure bet not to be on the list for the local tourist board. But he liked it. Dark. Everyone minding their own business. Something slow and easy playing on the juke in the corner, leaving a man enough room to think about the things.

Smoke wafted through the air and he could hear the slight ping of darts as they hit the dartboard. Taking a sip of his beer, he stared down at the wooden bar. His partner was in her hotel room, probably reading some anthropological journal with words that he didn't understand. He had just left her there, mumbling a few words and then leaving. Most times he enjoyed his partner's company, even when they fought, but today, today he just needed to sit and have a beer in silence.

Actually, what he really needed was to get pissed drunk and forget all this shit that had been happening.

He didn't need to see her stern look or hear her chatter, he just needed...

He couldn't even say.

When he was younger, he would just get drunk and hit on the prettiest girl in the bar. A head full of alcohol and a quick lay definately made problems better. But he was older. supposedly wiser, and he wasn't looking for that anymore.

His fingers played with the label on his beer bottle, pulling it back and forth as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He heard several of the guys give low whistles but he didn't bother to turn his head. But then he felt it, a hand on his shoulder. A soft touch, a woman's touch. He tensed, caught between the possiblity of temptation, the irritation at the intrusion. And the surprising unease that somehow he was being disloyal. All of that in a fraction of a second, from a single touch from someone unseen, and it shook him.

The hand, her hand, moved across his back, fingertips traveling across his shoulder blade as if by right. He breathed deeply, and through the smell of tobacco and musty beer he caught the scent of something altogether different. Strawberry shampoo and peppermints and beneath that the faint trace of antiseptic. A scent he would know anywhere.

He didn't know how, but she had found him.

Not knowing whether to be pissed that she had tracked him down, or grateful that she had, he turned slowly, hoping that the right words would be there. But the moment his eyes met hers, she stole every word he'd ever known.

She put her finger to his lips and his breath hitched. He expected her to slide onto the barstool next to him but she surprised him once again by brushing past him, her hips swaying slightily as she made her way over to the jukebox in the corner. His eyes followed her and he watched as she punched in some buttons and turned to face him.

He was half way across the room before he even realized it. Taking a step closer, he watched as her body swayed to the music. She was a goddess, an angel and a devil all rolled into one. She was temptation at its greatest and he could feel himself giving in with every step he took. Suddenly, he had no greater goal in life then to wrap his arms around her and pull her close.

She held out her hand.

"Dance with me."

It was a simple request and one that could be his undoing, but he took her hand anyway. He could never deny her anything. His other hand went around her waist and he pulled her close, swaying in time to the music. Her fingers clenched tightly at his shirt and her breath tickled his ear and he was lost. They continued to sway, neither aware of the numerous pairs of eyes that were focused on them.

Everything was gone except the feel of her body in his arms.

Drifting in the soft heat between them, he closed his eyes as she rested her head against his shoulder, nestling into the curve of his neck as if it had been made for her. He heard the quiet sigh of satisfaction that escaped her lips as his hand slid to the small of her back, possessively drawing her closer. Maybe it was the whisper of her hair like silk against his skin, the endless relief at finally being able to hold her like this, but he never wanted it to end. He could stay like this forever, trapped in the spell she'd cast over him.

Without thinking, without doubting the reason, he bent his head, pressing his lips against the hidden place just below her ear, before whispering every thought into her ear, wanting her to know that because of her, he could forget the damaged bodies, the man out there doing sick and twisted things. He was at ease. At peace. Because here, in the arms of this woman, he knew he was home.

Then the song ended. Someone bumped against his shoulder. There was a dull thump as the bartender clunked another bottle in front of him. And just like that, he was back at the bar. Alone and sad and wanting to be home. He breathed deeply, and there, just for a second, right below the stink of old beer and smoke, he thought he could smell strawberries and peppermint.

Drawing the cell phone from his pocket, he hesitated, wondering if he was about to make a mistake. And then, realized that it didn't matter. He dialed quickly, lifting the phone to ear and waited for the comfort of the familiar voice on the other end of the line.


	2. Colors

**A/N: Here's the next in our series of shots based on Amos Lee songs. This one was inspired by "Colors" another absolutely beautiful song. Wills and I hope you enjoy! - AnaG**

The metal was cold against his hands. A breeze swept through the air that caused him to shiver. But he didn't move from his spot, his eyes trained on the brick building in front of him. He had been leaning against his car for the last hour and a half, a task that his partner would have deemed completely illogical. When in fact his partner was why he was here. He blinked back the moisture in his eyes, atrributing it to the stinging cold rather than the events of the previous hours.

He was limbo, not sure whether to stay or go, not sure whether to acquiese to her request or not. After all, he was a man who didn't back down easily. He liked to fight for things, fight until he got what he wanted. But what do you do when your parter of six years, girlfriend for two of those, turns to you and tells you to get out of her life?

The flush in her face, angry red creeping up the column of her throat. The flash of blue fire in her eyes as the argument had escalated. His head fell back and he closed his eyes against the weight of the memory. She had meant it. At least he thought she did. But every time he reached into his pocket for his keys, ready to walk away like she said that she wanted, his feet wouldn't move.

Instead, he stood in the cold, looking up at the warm glow drifting from her window while he tried to understand what had happened. How an argument over something insignificant, stupid even, had turned so bad so quickly. From the moment the door had slammed behind him, and the mad rush turned into real silence, he had been going over every angle, torn between wanting to lay the blame at her feet and wanting to go back, bang on the door until she let him inside long enough to say that he was sorry for whatever he had done.

Their relationship was a strange one to say the least, one he didn't quite understand himself. They came together in the way he always thought they would; in the middle of a fight they began tearing off their clothes and irrevocably their relationship had changed forever. But even two years later, she held him at arm's distance, never letting him stay over too many nights in a row, desperate to avoid any domesticity that came with their relationship. She loved him, he knew that. In fact she told him before he told her. But there was always something stopping her from going farther.

At first he tried to push, but after getting unsatisfactory results, he decided that he could adjust and be happy with her in what ever way she would give him.

He couldn't live without her.

And therefore he put up with all the inconveniences and quirks that came along with their relationship.

He sighed and shifted against the car, recognizing the lie as soon as it entered his head. It was the same one that he'd been telling himself for awhile now. It wasn't enough. Each time that he compromised his feelings and stepped back to give her the space that she demanded, he was the one left alone. And he was tired of moving back and forth between the bright, unbelievable moments of happiness to being forced back into the shadows.

Maybe it was time. All or nothing.

But if it was truly that black and white, and the choice had been made, why did he feel like the world had still faded into gray?

His eyes returned to her window, as if somehow the answer would appear in the lighted square. He saw a shadow glide across its surface, watched as it vanished. Wondered if she was still wearing the red dress she'd worn for their date that night or if she had changed into those ugly blue flannel pajamas he always teased her about.

He rubbed his eyes and shifted against the car again. He was exhausted. Their fights lately had worn him down. Maybe that's why he had turned and left tonight so easily. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and turned, heading to the drivers side of the car. It was time to leave. Maybe he would take a vacation, ask for a transfer, anything that would allow him not to have his entire life revolve around her. It was too much.

Opening the car door, he took one more tentative glance up at the window. The light was still on. Was she watching him? Wondering what he was going to do? Well she won. She had finally pushed him hard enough to leave. He slid into the seat and put the keys into the ignition, before resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

God, he was stupid. He was doing exactly what she wanted and yet he couldn't at the same time. He could ask for a dozen transfers and yet he would still feel her lips against his. See her lazy smile when she was truly relaxed, watch as an uncharacteristic giggle escaped her lips.

She would follow him any place he went, he knew that. You didn't escape love that easily, not even when it jerked the heart right out of your chest and stomped on it just for good measure. Not when it was the real thing anyway. And she was it for him.

Though, apparently, he wasn't for her.

That was the thought that made him reach for the seatbelt, mumbling to himself about being a man and sucking it up. Enough already. Tell himself that enough times, he figured, and maybe he would start to believe it.

His hand closed over the keys dangling from the ignition and he was willing himself to turn them, so lost in the effort that he failed to notice the shadow that passed across the windshield in front of him. The click of the door handle was like a shot in the heavy silence, and he tensed, reflexively reaching for his weapon before he saw her framed in the open passenger door.

He froze.

She was wearing the ratty old flannel pajamas that he'd imagined, her hair falling from the makeshift knot she had haphazardly fashioned. Her face was devoid of makeup, her eyes red and swollen, the skin of her cheeks blotchy were he knew she had pushed away the tears as if they were the enemy. And god help him, it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

He remained still as she slid into the seat and carefully closed the door after her. She didn't speak, didn't look in his direction, her eyes fixed on the darkness outside the glass in front of her. He didn't understand what this meant, didn't dare to hope, knowing that he wouldn't be strong enough to retrace the steps back to accepting her decision.

When she turned to him, opened her mouth to speak, his throat constricted around the certainty that she was only here to tell again to go. Then he saw the tremor in her lower lip, watched as her mouth tightened into a closed line. Her eyes widened as they locked onto his, and she tilted her head slightly to the side. And with that simple gesture, one that he had seen a hundred times before, he knew without doubt what she had come to say.


End file.
